Tuesday, March 31, 2009


He spoke with such conviction but the crowd did not buy it. His wife, sitting behind him in a pew, clutched his young son by the shoulder. His graceless cardigan wrinkled between her fingers; cold and bloodless. The young woman’s daughter sat alone at the end. Her hands covered her face yet her nose peeked out, separating her plump, little pinkies. The anguish dribbled across the back of her hands, staining the lace trimming her mother had just ironed the night before. The floral print on her once radiant, whimsical dress seemed to turn into a leaden sheet of thorny pricks and irksome reminders of what was happening right before her.

Without a word the man sat down in the bored-out chair. Its legs wobbled atop the uneven floor, the stiff nubs wearing down upon the opposing wood ground. It scratched the planks below but it was okay. No one would take the time to lower their eyes towards the spot this man once stood at. The chair would eventually find its way to a local pile of refuse - just like the second-hand suit he bought a week before at the nearby thrift store. The son would eventually grow up to be a pharmacist, never traveling outside the city limits unless it was for his wife. His mother died a few years after the incident, some say from a broken heart, while others speculated she killed herself by overdose. She never received a proper examination.

As for the young girl at the end of the pew, few know what happened to her or the dress she once wore. It wasn’t until a few years after the article on her brother appeared in the paper that she came forward. After years of decomposing in the city’s landfill, the dress she once wore was plucked out and tried on. A young girl stood up, turned around and walked away without a problem in the world.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Sunday, March 29, 2009


We were young when we began learning
It was easy for only moments
When I realized what a grade was
I then stopped learning all together

Is a diploma another worksheet

Friday, March 27, 2009

Thursday, March 26, 2009


GILBERT, Dorothee & LEGRIS, Manuel

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

V For Virtue

Madonna Mia
By O.W.

Lily-Girl, not made for this world's pain,
With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears,
And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tears
Like bluest water seen through mists of rain:
Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its stain,
Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,
And white throat, whiter than the silvered dove,
Through whose wan marble creeps one purple vein.
Yet, though my lips shall praise her without cease,
Even to kiss her feet I am not bold,
Being o'ershadowed by the wings of awe,
Like Dante, when he stood with Beatrice
Beneath the flaming Lion's breast, and saw
The seventh Crystal, and the Stair of Gold.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

A Wake

By B.W. Gornick

The funeral of Private T.L. Bite, U.S.A., who died while in service in France in 2009, and whose remains arrived at his home in Realität on Thursday of last week, was held with military honors Friday morning. An assembly of townsfolk gathered for his requiem, which was celebrated in St. Mary's Church at Sterbebett by Rev. Father Sadowsky. The service was largely attended and there was a profusion of very beautiful floral offerings that were carried by Charles Lue and John Fairfax of the American Legion Post, No. 585, under commander of Lieut. Heap, who had charge of the service at the grave. There were two escorts, Brody Kaitschuck and Peter Schneider, and the flag bearer was John Giles. The pall bearers were Martin Mayer, Robert Marino, William Bristow, Richard Cotter, Felix Ehrle and Edward Smith. The firing squad was Michael Downes, in command; Williams Burrows, Thomas Wilde, Peter Fitzgerald, George Hemingway, Anthony Salinger, John Liebling, William Sartre, Anthony Steingarten and Adrian Capa. They were sounded by Bugler Martin-Arielle. Internment was in St. Mary's cemetery at Agora.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The Grind

By The H.I.

Bitch I’m on the Internet
Bitch I’m on the Internet

Bitch I’m on the Internet

Bitch I’m on the Internet

Bitch I’m on the Internet

Bitch I’m on the Internet

Bitch I’m on the Internet

Bitch I’m on It

Bitch I’m on the Internet

Bitch I’m on the Internet

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


"Empty your mind. Be formless; shapeless - like water. Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow, [or creep, or drip -] or it can crash. Be water my friend."
-Bruce Lee